Eric leaned back in the thick leather office chair and realized he was broke—flat-ass broke.

Over the last dozen years, he'd sunk his not inconsiderable fortune, every single goddamn penny, into a project that was a sure-fire winner, the culmination of 15 years of top-notch research, cutting-edge science, and nearly 200 years of marketing and social-science know-how.

Every dependable indicator in business and science had said that Michael would be an Earth shaker, the kind of once-a-century scientific breakthrough that would change how people lived their lives.

Myriad studies and focus groups had contributed to designing him, crafting every aspect of his appearance, voice, dimensions, and demeanor with minute detail. Michael could speak 128 languages, quote literature, scripture, and science, and was so perfectly crafted as to be indiscernible in every way from an actual human being.

Eric took a drink from the heavy glass in his hand; the whiskey burned but didn't sooth.

There were numerous Michael models and trims, each easily distinguishable from the next, but every model was perfect, as perfect to the human eye as science could make it. Comprehensive studies by a battery of scientists, including four Nobelists, had deciphered what they called the perfect formula, the exact design of a humaniform AI that would make every person comfortable, would put everyone at their ease. The Michael model was an automaton designed to be friend, companion, helpmate, and counselor. Nothing was overlooked, no expense was spared, and at 78 thousand dollars per unit, it was a steal. 

Taking another awkward gulp from the glass, Eric remembered the day three years before when he'd gone to the production facility to meet the first completed Michael before full-scale production began. When he'd entered the broad and sterile bay, he'd at first not been able to discern Michael from the three-dozen researchers who had gathered to attend the ceremony.

Then an attractive man of about 25 years had stepped forward. He was strong but not threatening, handsome but not intimidating, friendly but not servile. The brown-haired lad had extended a hand and looked Eric straight in the eye before greeting him with a warm and friendly, "Mr. Fellowes, I'm Michael. Pleased to meet you at last."

Eric's stomach roiled at the memory of it. He took the whiskey glass in both hands to steady the tremor that now beset him.

It had taken Eric more than two years to understand his intense unease at his first meeting with Michael, but by then it was too late. Sales of the Michael AI at first had been brisk, and then customers began to exercise the company's generous return policy, only a few at first and then many thousands. Sales soon after had flattened and then plummeted.

At that same time, a rival company had begun to sell what had seemed a laughable knock-off. The "Household Leopard," as it was marketed, was a simple metal and polymer frame the shape of which looked only vaguely like a large house pet. In its bipedal configuration, the 'critter' as it came to be known, was about the size of a human. And though it couldn't speak, it could perform virtually any task a human could, from doing the dishes, to changing a diaper, to putting a new roof on the garage.

An entire cottage industry soon sprung up producing Apps to teach the critter new skills, and a day didn't go by without Eric seeing one of the goofy robots driving the kids to soccer (probably illegally), running family errands, or walking the family dog (often alongside humans who were out walking their critters).

Just that morning at the local grocery, he'd seen a brightly decaled critter with a baby in one arm, selecting cabbage with the other, while corralling a toddler with a prehensile foot. No parent was to be seen.

When not at its daily chores, the lanky robot, which came in one vaguely feline and another slightly canine trim, would revert to quadrupedal configuration and either curl up in a corner like the family pet or saunter around the house making a nuisance of itself like its flesh and blood counterparts. The critters' impromptu antics ran the gamut from swatting weakly at passing dust-balls to glaring menacingly at suspicious shadows behind the door. People didn't seem to mind when a critter sat on all fours, cocking its head and regarding them with its large retro eyes, eyes that sometimes whirred too loudly when focusing.

People didn't seem to mind that Sarah Ezra, the huckster who'd designed and marketed the critter, mostly had used billions of online cat videos to set its play parameters.

Eric at first had been aghast. He had a Ph.D. from MIT, had cracked the Forbes list before he was 30, and had given five Ted Talks. The Michael research team had included Nobelists and world experts. But a young woman with an engineering degree from Eastern No-Name State University knew something they all did not: people don't like being creeped out.

Her Household Leopard looked only slightly like a household pet, and it never pretended to be what it was not. The design was just familiar enough to put people at their ease. And the result was a six-thousand-dollar piece of technology to which people were willing to entrust their children.

Those three years past when Eric had shaken hands with Michael, he'd looked into those perfect hazel eyes and seen nothing, absolutely nothing. There'd dwelt beneath that perfect brow not so much as a glimmer of humanity.

It took more than two years for Eric to figure out why that experience had turned his blood cold, but by then, his company was in bankruptcy.

But if he could turn back time just three years, Eric knew there was one new line of code he could write, one simple command he could give to Michael to put all customers at ease: "Whatever you do, Michael, don't ever look them in the eye."